


One-Shot: Miranda's Bedded Babe

by frenzypurple99



Category: N/A - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25506376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frenzypurple99/pseuds/frenzypurple99
Summary: A fetish work in which an over-worked secretary comes home to her wife reduced to a literal sheet.





	One-Shot: Miranda's Bedded Babe

**Author's Note:**

> The story's considerably raunchy and should not be viewed in public. There is a certain level of violence and degradation, but no gore. There are sexual content and nudity as well.
> 
> Contents are mostly flattening transformation.

Evening had fallen across the city—Miranda was returning home from work, surely. Her wife Catherine had only awoken just an hour prior, however, scrambling to prep supper before her darling made it back. Her brown bangs were frazzled, and her locks hung over her lanky frame, even tucked into her white tee.

Catherine set out the dinnerware, but splotches and crusted stains marred her shirt and a bit of her drab, gray panties. The living room sat just beyond the dining room, with the sofa-bed still pulled out, sheets spilled over on one end and emptied beer cans toppled over on the other. One had vomited its remainder out on the carpet. The first sight from the front door just opposite of the kitchen.

Of course, such was never any way to present oneself for supper.

But a certain tickling in Catherine’s breast had woven into her legs and hands, and she strode toward the bed, flopping herself atop it. Even standing at nearly six feet, she’d just barely fit, lying across its side, perfect to hide her lanky figure and surprise her bite-sized darling.

Still, the mattress was rather firm. It had squished with so little buoyancy, almost like a dense board.

Well, either way.

She took hold of the outer end of the mattress and tugged it, but it budged little. Despite lying on her side, she should well be able to fold the darned thing over herself, yet with her biceps twisting and tightening in on themselves, the mattress just slumped back down. To top, her breath had gotten heavy, and her stomach was beginning to cramp as well.

She clicked her tongue and smacked the bed—

Wham!

Miranda hopped in and shut the door behind her, breath ragged and arms wobbly. Her suit was damp at the pits, and her scarlet bob clung to her cheeks.

No secretary should ever have to deal with alien invasions with their damned laser guns that turn people into cardboard. But who was she to question her superiors? So of course, she had gotten stuck dodging stray shots all day, dealing with additional loads of paperwork while her coworkers literally lied around on the job. Well, she’d at least filed those louts away before clocking out. Better than dropping them in the baler, right?

“Dammit!”

Miranda chucked her briefcase at her feet and kicked her shoes aside.

“Ugh, well, I’m home, I guess.” She scanned the room. “Cathy? Babe?”

Her honey’d cooked a meal—the dishes were just out on the table—but the bed was still half-open, with the last night’s leftovers still littered about it. Catherine had the day off, she was sure. That dinner was ready saw to that at least. Was she still getting ready or something?

Miranda harrumphed.

She set to at least picking up around the place a bit while waiting for her wifey, starting with that sofa. She came up on its front and gripped its underside, but a peach-ish splotch peeked out from the edge of the folded layer. She pulled back, fingers coiled and shoulders stiff—no bodily fluid they’d produced should ever look like that, nor the booze they’d picked up. At least not that brand.

She took a breath and grimaced, scooted toward the bed’s side. Her fingers were jittery, even curled between the mattress’s folded layers, and her teeth were clamped shut.

Another ridiculous alien plot? A trick of the eye? Perhaps terrible memory, even?

“Ah, fuck!”

Miranda flipped the mattress open.

Some part of her brain fried.

Her sweetie lied thin as paste down the middle of the damned thing, clad in a thin, smudged tee and some panties. Her bangs were swept off to one side, and her lips were as a squiggly grin. Her irises, however, were dulled. Her arms stretched down to her hips, and her shirt contoured to her trunk, nipples and belly outlined. Her hair flowed amid her sides just past her hips, and her thin legs met at the knees and parted again until the feet.

Yeah, something in her brain had to have popped, surely.

After all, her damned fingers picked away at the buttons on her suit just before casting the sweltering layer off and starting on the next piece. Her steps were brisk, and by the time she’d come to just her underwear, she’d already stood at the opposite end of the bed, just before the image of her babe’s little piglets.

She kissed one before clambering atop Catherine’s likeness. Saliva pooled in her mouth and dribbled out one corner, and her heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks were flushed, and her errant glare sought out every detail of that lanky figure that always stood two heads over her. 

She undid her bra and undies before tossing them out.

But this is fine—if anything, the alien invasion had traumatized her to this boorish behavior, right?

Miranda’s figure was petite, save maybe her bust, the only place where she’d managed to one-up her babe. Still, she was the one to straddle Catherine tonight. Even if it was just some print-out embedded into the sheet, she’d still topped her this once.

She brushed her bangs aside and pecked her honey’s lips.

“Oh, babe. Work sucked ass today.” She plodded back and marked her lover down her neck. “I got to fight for my life on the job, got to see those other bimbos get cardboard’d—I think I got a new fetish too. I—eh?”

Her knee was perched atop some damp spot—her wifey’s hoohah.

“I—what?”

Catherine’s cheeks were flushed as well.

Miranda peered in more closely, and her honey’s cheeks grew redder.

“I—Cathy?!” She tumbled onto her butt. “I—you—that’s actually you?!”

Her heart nearly popped.

“Um—well, you see…”

Miranda chuckled, hoarse as her voice was. Still, her damned mouth wouldn’t stop its watering, even spilling out onto her babe, drizzled across her once-lithe trunk. Her forehead was feverish, and steam seemed to emit from her nostrils. Her fingernails scraped at Catherine’s top.

“Oh, crap. Honey, I—” She blinked. “Er—what?”

Catherine’s top was scratched, but her flesh beneath it was intact. So Miranda picked at it and brushed away more of the shirt as though it were some scratch card. Unlike those, however, the winning numbers were…

She rubbed out the bits at her wifey’s little nips and poked at them. She giggled as she nestled her soaked scalp at Catherine’s breast. She swept her hand down Catherine’s length and sighed. Then she pulled herself up and spun around before plopping her bum on her honey’s face. She scooted her cheeks back and forth as she scraped at the gray cloth blotting out the jackpot.

A thin, pinkish slit, damp and sticky as it were.

Miranda licked her lips before licking her wifey’s other lips. And she licked away, hand at her own womanhood, mashing Catherine’s mouth in and out. Her vulva clamped around Catherine, and her own pre-cum seeped into her.

Her hips jerked.

Miranda’s breath was slight, but she munched on Catherine’s sex, sucking on her fluids as her own stained her. Her pace became staggered, and her moan’s pitch climbed. She rolled her tongue around her honey’s crotch and lathered it into some crumpled wad. Her limbs were stiff and jittery, and her hips bucked over, and over, and over.

She’d thoroughly soiled her babe’s face.

Miranda flopped onto her side and brushed Catherine’s opening. Her head and chest felt light, and her cheeks were rosy. A slight tune escaped her lips, and her fingers were gentle.

A wonderful evening, undoubtedly.

“Mmm, especially for how work went.” Miranda giggled. “Say, Cathy, how about we go ea—eek!”

But  of course , she’d spoiled her honey’s body.

“Ah, crap!” Miranda jumped and rubbed at the stains. “Fuck, this ain’t coming out. Shit, shit, shit!”

She slammed her fists on her wifey’s belly.

“Oops. Sorry, babe.” She patted Catherine. “Hm, still, there’s nothing I can do now. Maybe it’ll come out in the wash though. Better than accidentally rubbing you out for good at least. 

And I can take you over to one of those—maybe there’s a lab somewhere that can fix you up, yeah?”

She hopped off and undid the sheet before running off and dumping her into the washing machine. Then she wiped her sweat away and went off to warm up dinner again before heading to bed.

Miranda popped open the washer the next morning, her grin perky and fingers sprightly.

“Now, come to mama—aaah!”

Her babe had been reduced to an indistinct, disfigured splotch.


End file.
